Wu Hao was laying there, breathing quietly in the dark. He was bored and he'd had to fight off the desire to go to sleep for hours now.
Nonetheless he was waiting. In the long, endless stretch of dark, he tried to puzzle out why he'd been killed at all, which he still had no idea about, but at least he'd get answers soon.
If the killer was coming at all. It was possible that he wouldn't, that whatever Wu Hao had done last ti hadn't happened this ti and a result he was wasting ti that he'd be better off using to get so sleep...
He shook his head. It was those sorts of thoughts that'd lead him to fall asleep, and in that case there'd be nothing preventing him from being killed again.
Just as he was biting his lip to keep himself awake, though, there was a very distant sound of movent at the utmost edge of his hearing. It wasn't the sounds of the city beyond his window turning in his sleep - for what had felt like hours now, even those sounds had gone quiet.
One by one, a series of presences announced themselves to his senses. Despite sitting in his room unmoving, he could feel them in the distance. Third-grades, one and all, but not ones that had had much ti to cultivate, judging from their total mass, but there was sothing else there, too...
There was a curious similarity to their qi. Wu Hao had read a lot of qi signatures already, and every single one had had unique characteristics. So slled of fruit, others were disgusting. So were almost solid, others were ethereal and lighter than air, it seed.
But while there were so things that were unique to each of those presences, it was like their qi had been drenched in mud, so much so that parts of their qi were unidentifiable. While he'd just called it mud, it wasn't quite that - there was a distinct odor of darkness and resentnt running through their qi. It slled foul, which was why Wu Hao had managed to sll it so clearly.
It slled... rancid. It slled... goopy. It wasn't exactly the sa sll that he'd chased throughout the market the last two days, but it was sohow similar. If all of their qi was pooled and reduced like a soup it might reach the sa state as that qi he'd been slling.
This wasn't a natural state of things. Whether these n had been made into this willingly or not, he had no clue, but he did know one thing:
He was in danger. Now that he knew that these n had sothing to do with chasing him, and in his mind that sealed it: they'd been sent here to chase him down and kill him.
Why, he didn't know. Because they thought that maybe he'd been on to sothing? Impossible to say.
Wu Hao breathed in as quietly as he could as the three distant presences were joined by another, larger one that dwarfed the rest in his senses.
A second-grade martial artist. Wu Hao wasn't as afraid of them as he'd once been, having killed three of them more or less with his own hands, but that didn't an that he didn't know how much danger they'd pose to him.
After all, he figured that most of his deaths would still have co from second-grade martial artists. Soday, he promised himself, he'd move high enough up in the world that first-grade martial artists would be killing him.
Leaving those distracting thoughts aside, he took careful hold of his spear, though he didn't yet rise from his bed. Instead, he waited.
Each steps of the n outside felt hauntingly slow, almost taunting. Their movents were oddly jerky, and they had to be pushed around by the second-grade to set them on their ways. One was sent to guard the door outside, while another was sent to go through the kitchens and the adjoining rooms where Fu Wang and his family might have slept. The last was sent upstairs.
It was on him that Wu Hao focused, though he kept the second-grade martial artist in mind as well.
The man nearly smashed into a table before reaching the stairs. Wu Hao found it bizarre. Wasn't this a third-grade martial artist? He had so degree of qi in him, after all, and just by having qi, all of your movents ought to be smooth and confident.
Each step up the stairs was slow, almost deliberately so. He moved like a drunk, each step a very dull thump on the wooden step of the stairs. Each bump took several heartbeats, and Wu Hao wanted to scream to just hurry it up already.
But then Wu Hao's attention was drawn away by quick, repeated flareups of that sa qi that he'd sensed from all three of them, and then, one by one, he felt people die. Fu Wang's qi was first to extinguish, and Wu Hao felt the man's qi release from his core. He couldn't see how the man had died, but he didn't need to.
After all, he could guess that the man had just died from a spear strike.
Several more quick strikes of that dark, muddy qi that moved so slowly when not in use but struck like vipers when it wanted to. Wu Hao held his breath as each of the mbers of Fu Wang's family were slaughtered. Most of them hadn't been martial artists, so he couldn't be sure, but those repeated swings of qi couldn't an much positive.
Judging by the movent of the qi below him, afterwards the bodies were removed, slung over n's shoulders.
A chill ran down his spine. He hadn't liked Fu Wang from the start, and the fact the man had twice tried to scam him into working for free hadn't endeared him, either.
It didn't an he deserved to die like that. It didn't an his family deserved to, either. A cold anger burst through Wu Hao, quick and fierce, that had his grip on the spear tighten so much that his nails clenched into his palms.
But he kept quiet. Outside the third-grade martial artist stopped outside Wu Hao's door. He stood there for a mont, and Wu Hao wondered what he was doing. There was a very faint rustle of cloth, and then the soft sound of paper moving. The man bent at the waist, stopped there for a mont, and then pushed his qi into whatever he'd been holding.
The next mont, the talisman slipped underneath Wu Hao's door. By luck or by design, it had managed to slip past the traps he'd set, which revolved around the door swinging out or on the handle.
Wu Hao sat there, staring at the talisman, and the knowledge that'd been stuffed into his mind worked to guide him to a realization of what it did.
Gas, he thought. It unleashed gas. Reacting on instinct he pulled his covers over his head, trying to breathe as shallowly as he could. The man outside stared blankly into nothing for a little longer, presumably waiting to see if he could hear the sound of Wu Hao reacting, but he forced himself to keep quiet.
Already, though, he was beginning to feel light-headed. At so point or another, he had grown a resistance to these sorts of drugs, and yet the dust that was spreading through the air was still effecting him.
No wonder he hadn't woken up, Wu Hao thought to himself. They'd drugged him.
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Then, after a minute of empty silence, the enemy moved on, tromping back down to the other rooms and then the stairs. Wu Hao jumped out of bed, dashed over to the part of the door, and rushed to the paper. His footsteps thumped on the floor, but he couldn't take it anymore. If this took any longer, he'd pass out entirely.
Using the butt of his spear he pushed the talisman over the floor, dragging it past several arrays that he'd set up but now were only hindering himself. There was a loud bang as one of them went off, so loud that the sound made his ears ache. His lungs burned with the exertion of keeping his breath held, his eyes were burning at the bitter dicinal scent of the gas.
It took him precious monts while the edge of his vision was growing black before he could shove the talisman halfway outside. Then, with a twirl of his spear, he ripped the paper in half clumsily.
Hissing and spitting like a cat it blew itself up, the rest of the gas launched straight upwards and coating the door that split it down its middle. Wu Hao took deep, thankful breaths, before he slled that sa dicinal scent again and hurried over the window, almost ripping it off its hinges in his haste to get fresh air.
Then, though, he heard a vague commotion downstairs. The third-grade martial artist t with the second-grade and reported to him, and then went quiet again. Then the second-grade began to move. Wu Hao's heart beat like a drum, and he glanced over at the window.
No escape there, though. As he'd thought earlier, it was too small by half for that.
Wu Hao watched the second-grade martial artist co up, his pace asured and certain. Whatever had afflicted the third-grade martial artists, it didn't seem to effect him quite as much. His qi still stank of that acrid musk, though, but he'd kept more of his individuality.
Turning his back to the window, Wu Hao decided he'd probably die here. He stood now in the middle of the room, surrounded by his traps. He could still make use of them, if he used his head.
His enemy stopped in front of the door, the sa way that the earlier third-grade had done. A flash of qi from his core leapt up towards his eyes, shadows jetting out of his eyes as he stared through the door.
Wu Hao fought the urge to shiver as those eyes focused solely on him. Any mont now, he told himself, having missed his first chance to strike. Any mont now...
The technique cut out as the second-grade martial artist stopped it, but Wu Hao still didn't move. His hands clenched tighter on the spear, if that was possible, waiting quietly.
Despite everything, if the man wanted to kill him then he'd still have to enter the room. If he did, Wu Hao would be on him instantly.
The second-grade martial artist raised his spear, gathering his qi again. Shadows raised themselves, bunching into a thick mud that inspired a deep disgust in Wu Hao for reasons he couldn't articulate. Wu Hao tensed, ready to leap forward should the man smash open the door or throw his spear like a javelin straight through the wood to skewer Wu Hao.
But neither of those happened. Instead, with a grunt - the first sound he'd made the entire night - the spear was raised and then brought down heavily into the corner between the door and the wall, where there was nothing but dustballs.
Then, sohow, it pierced through that corner, a full third of the spear's length disappeared as if it'd been shoved into an actual space where there was none. It hadn't torn through the shadow or carved into the wooden floor or the stone beneath - it had just disappeared outright.
His instincts screaming, Wu Hao leapt forward, the tip of his spear snapping out as he whirled through the air, preparing himself to land in the right position for the Heart Seeker.
Feet struck wood. Wu Hao drew back just slightly, eyes focused fully on the door, and only then did the point of the other man's technique make itself clear as the spear's tip erged from the nearby shadow.
Wu Hao only barely caught its reflection from the moon's light shining down, and then it'd pierced through him easily from an angle he'd never expected - from the side of his bed upwards, like the monsters hiding beneath it had co out to play.
It tore through his side, skewering several organs. Wu Hao hacked up blood, feeling more of it well up from inside of him, but the spear rooted him to the spot until the man outside let out a sort of grunt, twisted his spear, and ended his technique. The tal in Wu Hao's belly twisted as well but then shimred and dissolved into shadows, which fled when blood and guts ca spilling out of the wound.
Wu Hao sank to his knees, one hand instinctively holding his belly as the life drained out of him. Propping himself up with the spear he held in his other hand, Wu Hao simply panted like a dog.
A final burst of inspiration struck him, despite the circumstances. As with the talisman earlier, he dragged the butt of his spear through several arrays, filling the room with bursts of noise and light that flashed so brightly that Wu Hao might have permanently lost his hearing or his sight.
But all he still needed right now was his qi sense, anyway.
The second-grade martial artist barely reacted except by taking a step back. He was gathering qi for another technique, but Wu Hao struck first.
He'd had offered up his ability to see or hear in return for a final strike. He'd allowed himself to sink to his knees, and now he cocked back and threw his spear using every single shred of strength he had left in his body.
"One Strike Spear Art," he mumbled, though he couldn't have heard it. "Heart Seeker."
The spear flew like a lightning bolt, crashing through the door and impaling the second-grade martial artist through the throat so hard that he flew backwards with it until the spear's tip had erged from his neck and lodged itself squarely into the far wall.
The technique had done what he'd needed it to, even though he'd missed. It had struck the man's neck, pinning him to the wall. It ought to have been fatal, if not instantly then soon enough.
The man simply clawed at the spear impaled in his neck, struggling to pull it out. He had given no grunt of pain, no indication that he felt near to death. The core in his veins, located on the opposite side of the heart, still pulsed with that thick sludgelike qi.
But the impact had knocked off the mask that each of the Mu clan's guards wore, and Wu Hao finally saw the man's real face.
There was little to no flesh left on his jaw. It had simply sloughed off at so point, and Wu Hao finally pin-pointed what had bothered him about the sounds he'd been hearing all night.
The entire ti, he'd heard steps. He'd heard movent. He'd heard voices, to so extent.
He hadn't heard or seen a single man breathe.
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